The Takeover
by Doubleplusgoodduckspeaker
Summary: We steal from the rich and give to the poor so that they may become rich, and then we steal from them too. I really have no idea what you're doing here, and I don't really care, but since you can't beat us, you might as well join us. Kashipping.


Set in the fuuuuuture—dystopian/utopian science/fantasy/adventure, AU to the max, etc. Written for round Eight, the _final_ round, of the YGO Fanfiction Contest. Challenge pairing is Kashipping, DiaboundxBEWD (no comment... I don't know what Ryou was thinking with this one), accompanied by a smattering of other pairings: BakuraxKisara, MokubaxMai, and KaibaxKisara. I want this to read like one of those sci-fi flicks that get released every year or so; they never do fantastic at the box office but I like them. Read and enjoy!

"The Takeover"

* * *

"_In order to obtain and hold power, a man must love it."_

—_Leo Tolstoy_

* * *

_In the very distant future…_

Friday night in Domino City.

The lights on each skyscraper could be seen for miles around; some flickering in cadence, some awash with light. The city itself pulsed with life, from the echo of footsteps on the ground level to the loud metallic whine of the electric cars as they passed overhead, some almost too quickly to be even noticed. Every breath, sound, sight added to the heartbeat that, if nothing else, was always constant in an ever-changing world.

If any late-night revelers stumbling home happened to look skywards that night they might have seen a hovercar speeding along not unlike a shooting star, pursued by several retrofitted police cruisers, their own lights blinking in a spectacle of red and blue. They might have looked up and noticed the driver, who had the rare genetic combination of extremely pale skin and nearly white hair. But in a moment it all would have passed, and perhaps they would have thought it nothing more than the alcohol playing pranks on their vision. Perhaps it had been nothing at all.

The driver punched a few more buttons on the dashboard, chancing a quick glance over his left shoulder as he did so. Only three chasing him this time… what a joke! It was almost as if they had issued him an open invitation…like somebody wanted him to get away with his theft. The two-way radio left on the vacant seat next to him buzzed to life, the voice on the other end loud and clear. "Hey, Bakura, from the looks of it you're a pretty popular guy tonight. Three dates and they're relentless."

Bakura grinned, punching the gas as the car shot forward, and then arced left, weaving through several dense blocks. The delivery trucks would be hitting the streets soon enough, and he did not want to tangle with that on top of everything else.

"And they want me to pay… can you believe that?" His voice was unwavering, even precise in its diction, with a hint of an accent. He could still hear the whine of the sirens as they pierced through the usual nighttime cacophony of Downtown Domino. They wouldn't be fooled by such simple navigational parlor tricks—especially as he used them every time they met. If it wasn't his life on the line, he'd almost feel sorry for the officers, who would be coming back empty-handed… tonight… _again_.

He looked up—in ten blocks or so they would be approaching a slight clearing where he knew the Industrial Illusions headquarters were. It spanned several blocks just in its own base of operations, and the man himself lived above his shop, so to speak, in the two ivory towers that pointed up towards the sky. It was supposed to look Egyptian. To Bakura, it just looked like a bunch of money being thrown around. He knew I2's layout well… he had successfully made off with several boxes of their newest shipment of electronics the previous week. "Marik, I'm looking at the Ivory towers… I'm going to loop around and head south on 51st… hopefully they can take the hint and get lost this time."

"Just don't come back until you're clean." His terse response was echoed by a burst of static, and then the connection was gone. Bakura sighed… Marik's doubt was misplaced. He was as good as invisible.

* * *

Kisara could see the entire city spread out before her, the lights twinkling in the inky blackness of the night sky like stars burning brightly… burning themselves out. She had never seen a supernova before. She imagined that when a star burned itself out the resulting explosion was magnificent. It was a reminder to all of the other celestial objects that it had existed, that it was _there_, even if it wasn't anymore. Tonight there wouldn't be any explosion. She wasn't sure yet if she wanted one.

True, the world hadn't been kind to her. The big city with its bright lights was surprisingly cold. But that didn't mean she couldn't be kind to the world. It could make do with one less star, she was sure of that. The marble of the ledge felt cold under her feet. With her dress she probably blended right in to the façade of the building. Kisara felt her heart hammering inside her chest, and in the instant before she leapt, her eyes once again darted to the stars, twinkling again just out of reach, as if they had all of the answers but refused to share to anyone less than worthy.

* * *

Bakura guided the hovercar around the circumference of the western tower, ready to dart into one of the side streets if he was spotted. He didn't think anyone on the force would be savvy enough to follow him here. He looked straight ahead… the plaza was completely empty.

A quite unexpected thump in the back of the car made him jolt the wheel harshly to the left; the car spun in a perfect circle, stopping in the opposite direction. Every hair on the back of his neck was standing up as he retrieved his gun from the waistband of his jeans. He pivoted around, aiming the gun at whatever disturbance had caused the crash.

For a moment it looked like one of the boxes had just collapsed… then the white sheet he had thrown over the boxes started to move. A girl stood up, looking first at the boxes that had broken her fall, then at her own hands, only slightly blemished from the fall. "I'm…alive?" Her voice was a strange combination of disappointment and surprise.

Bakura kept the gun trained on her, his eyes flickering to what interested him more… what was behind her. It was common knowledge in Domino that each person's essence—their 'soul monster' to use the slang term—was visible to only themselves. Everyone had one, but it wasn't something everyone went about sharing—it was more like a secret to share, the representation of one's inner self. Yet Bakura had the unique ability to see anyone's soul—and hers was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

It was something like a ripple in the air—when he locked eyes with someone for the first time, there was that unmistakable shimmer in the air around them, and for one split second he could see it. He could learn a lot about a person by the state of their soul. It had helped him out of many a tough situation—what he could glean from this unheard-of characteristic was a helpful tell as to whether someone would renege on a deal later on. It might have even saved his life on one occasion.

And her soul was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

It was a dragon—that much he could tell right away. Yet with each passing second he found more things to observe about it: the sheen of the scales, a wash of white against blue. The silently proud angle of the neck, the trusting ice-blue eyes. The unmistakable aura of latent power, just waiting to be untapped. He realized that he had been staring.

"I'll finish the job if you don't tell me what you're doing here."

She stared back, her eyes huge in the dimmed light. "I meant to die just now… I didn't mean to land in your car. Please forgive me."

He lowered the gun just slightly, as if still deciding whether or not to just kill her—yet it was no act. He had no code; no real reason to stop from pushing her over the side and finishing what she herself had started. Yet the latent power in her soul…that was more than reason enough.

"Who will come looking for you?"

She matched his guarded, detached gaze with one so open Bakura wondered if he shouldn't feel a bit sad. She didn't have to answer. He figured she was probably a housekeeper or a similar entry-level employee; wraithlike even in a crowded room. No one would miss her.

"You…and your dragon," he added, almost as an afterthought—how did the saying go? Share a secret, gain her trust? "…will just have to come with me, then. I'll put you to work… real work. How does that sound?" He re-latched the safety on the gun and tucked it back into his waistband, then extended his hand towards her as if to pull her to the front of the car. It was just a simple invitation, a prelude to an initiation. He nearly failed to smother the smile as she took his hand.

The sound of the hovercar speeding into the night blended in to the other sounds of the city, the high shrill of the sirens, the distant echo of footsteps and the thud as doors swung shut and casements molded into their frames. One by one some lights blinked on and some others switched off.

* * *

Sunrises in Domino were rich with color as the sun streaked pale pink and orange across the sky. The red taillights of the hovercar blended in to the sky as the car eased into its port. Evading the cops was easy—explaining the appropriate version of what happened that night to Marik would be a little trickier.

Kisara watched from behind Bakura's shoulder as some of his men, features partially obscured by dark cloaks, lifted the wooden crates from the back of the hovercar easily, as if they contained nothing but air. "Kaiba Corporation?" Kisara nodded to the logo branded on the wood. "The weapons manufacturer?"

He eyed her warily, waiting for some typical feminine reaction—gasping, covering her mouth, even weeping openly in the large garage—yet none came. Instead she merely said softly, "I understand." He grunted. Not like she could do anything about it.

"Let's go see Marik." He led her through a maze of corridors and down several floors before stopping in front of a worn paneled door. In fact, the whole building had seen better days. No one seemed to care about maintaining the interior, let alone the exterior—and Kisara realized that it probably helped them blend in to the fabric of the city. Just who were these people?

Marik was seated behind an equally worn metal desk, his feet propped up on its surface, crossed at the ankles. He was also wearing a cloak, yet the hood of his was thrown back, revealing a head of honey-colored hair. Kisara took a moment to glance between the two men. It seemed that while one was as ghostlike in color as herself, the other couldn't help but stand out.

Marik perked up upon seeing them enter, his eyebrows disappearing under his bangs when his sight landed upon her. "When I was talking about dates on the radio channel I was being facetious."

If Bakura heard the comment, he didn't let it affect him. "We have two weeks until the takeover. Kisara used to work at Industrial Illusions. Marik…" And then his eyes changed, became a little harder, speaking out around each perfectly annunciated syllable, "…we let people underestimate us because it works in our favor—let's not let it be otherwise."

"Right." He removed his feet from on top of the desk, leaned forward and steeped his fingers, resting his chin lightly on them. Bakura moved to sit on the less dusty of the two chairs across from the desk, motioning to Kisara to take the other one. "Kisara, was it? Do you know what it is we do?"

"Stealing, capturing… is there anything you don't do?" Again Bakura could see the hint of the dragon behind the saccharine sweetness of her tone.

"Allow me to explain," Marik said, an edge to his smile slightly hidden behind his fingertips. "If Bakura was a modern-day Robin Hood, then we would be his band of Merry Men—but he isn't, and we aren't. We steal from the rich and give to the poor so that they may become rich, and then we steal from them too. We're outlaws, rebels, yet with more power than you can believe. You must know that Domino is on the cusp of a revolution—even in your Ivory tower you must have felt it. And you—I really have no idea what you're doing here, and I don't really care, but since you can't beat us, you might as well join us." Marik leaned back in his chair, smiling a little at what would happen.

"Do you have any questions?"

Bakura's voice was cold and jarring where Marik's had been smooth and nearly soporific.

"Only one…" She turned slightly in the chair; this question was directed at Bakura. "I've never met anyone who could see my soul monster before… how come you can?"

There was a sharp _slap_ as Bakura's feet stomped against the ground. He stood up, taking the advantage of height as his shadow towered over her seated form. Across the room Marik laughed. "He told you?"

At first Kisara felt that this was something of a miracle—she had wanted to be a part of something important, have an adventure, feel special, almost chosen—yet now, watching Bakura, she finally felt how she should—vulnerable. Helpless. Afraid.

"You are quite lucky Marik already knows—is the only other person alive who knows—of my particular talent. Otherwise I might have had to dispose of you both." That sobered up Marik, at any rate. "It is rather unique and I'd rather not be killed or captured for it—I value my own life far more than yours. Now, no more questions—you need a room, clothes, food—and we'd better hurry while I'm still in a good mood."

Marik kept up the laughter as they left the room, the door swinging with effort on rusted hinges. Over his shoulder, Bakura called "Oh, and Marik? Get out of my office."

* * *

"Have you always been a thief?"

Kisara was settled in, swamped in the smallest cloak they could find, and now spent her mornings sorting equipment and materiel into other, smaller boxes. Bakura still wouldn't let her touch a loaded weapon, but her hands still ached from lifting the cases of bullets and folding each bulletproof jacket. She had never been to the KaibaCorp complex in the center of Domino but knew that it was guarded like a fortress—armed to the teeth with its own products. With all the cash that changed hands as a result of their work, they probably had more in their vaults than any bank as well.

Bakura looked at her over the cup of coffee he held between two hands. He liked his coffee strong, black, and so hot he could barely stand it. "Yes—I've always been a thief. First by birth, then by necessity. Now, by choice. Now it's my turn," he said absently, eyes cloudy through the swirls of steam rising from the cup. "What did you do at Industrial Illusions?"

"Did you know Pegasus Crawford is an artist? I was one of his pupils—even though I've only been there for less than a year. I need a little more practice, but I was actually pretty good at it."

"An art student? How many of you were there?"

"Too many—I certainly didn't know them all. We were all working on different projects—I had only barely left the training. Does it matter? Industrial Illusions is second-tier, after Schroeder and KC and the rest. We probably just look bigger than we are—Pegasus always had a flair for the dramatic."

She shrugged off the question and so did he, tucking it in the back of his mind to consider later, when there was time. When she did speak again, her voice was quieter. "So you can see… everyone's?" She nodded vaguely in the direction of several work-tables pushed together, surrounded by men and women, endless planning on top of planning. Bakura was nothing if not thorough.

"Yes."

"Can you tell me… what they look like?" Her question, borne out of curiosity, hung in the air. She couldn't help the smile though. It was rather rude—but she was curious.

"Bug, bug, bigger bug, swordsman, rat with armor…" His voice was devoid of inflection, as if he was checking items off of a list. He reminded himself why he tolerated her—her own soul monster was magnificent, steeped in power she didn't even know she had.

"I've always wondered… they seem anything but gentle. Like our own souls are marching off into battle—is that really a reflection of who we are?"

He shrugged. "Of course it is. We're born with the natural desire to take as many people with us before we die. Why else is an arms baron running this town?"

She pursed her lips, her hands balled into fists at her side. Bakura continued to sip at his coffee even though it was starting to lose its taste. "I…I can't see them like you can. But I can tell if someone is essentially good or bad." She looked up at him, and he looked back. He could see her dragon, and by the tight feeling in his rib cage he knew that his own beast could see it too. It was almost a pity they had to meet like this, in the deep breath before the plunge. Yet, if they had met earlier, wouldn't things play out exactly the same?

"I can't quite make you out yet. It… changes." She paused, and for another second he saw blue. "Can you tell me about your own soul monster?"

He knew well the state of his soul, and why it changed. His heart twisted again at the power, at the memory of each time it had changed. Just like he was unique, his soul was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He smiled his fake smile at her, his face half-hidden by his coffee cup. In the harsh overhead lights, he could almost see her reflection in the dark surface of the liquid, rolling in waves as he took a sip. He wondered, out of the dark-paged history of his own life, what in fact he could tell her.

"Are you sure you want to know?" There were definitely some parts of his past that he couldn't tell her but at the same time, he couldn't help but remember.

* * *

_Giving something a name makes it real. _

_His was named Diabound. _

_Yet, in his memory no night was more vivid, more real, than the night that his home had vanished from the Earth._

_How could he forget? It was the night he had discovered just what he had the power to achieve. _

_His home was called Kul Elna—a den of thieves, the lawless and lawbreakers, and it was all he had ever known. Until that night. Somebody had taken up the vendetta and sought them out, even hidden as they were—with one foot in the present and one foot deep in the sands. Even as time dragged on they hadn't forgotten their mystic roots. He had heard the telltale signs of the fight and had sought refuge in the city's underground tomb, deep in the cover of darkness. _

_Yet somehow the fight had arrived at his doorstep all the same. It came in the form of two men, taking this opportunity to themselves steal from the city of thieves. He saw them approach, accompanied by their shadows—both reptiles._

"_What have we got here?" One of them asked, his voice pitched high and reedy in the echo of the cavern. _

"_Go and see if it's real gold—we could melt it down and make a fortune!"_

_They approached the site where he stood, crouched in the darkness. He heard their cries as they laid eyes on the tablet, and that was when he felt _it_. The darkness swooped around him and before he quite knew what he was doing he had leaped up, the knife in his hands a glittering arc as it darted for its target. He saw his Diabound mimicking his movement, the shadowy mass swallowing their spirits, absorbing their energy. And as the energy, the darkness, swirled around his own spirit, he felt and saw it change. _

_Diabound's shape swelled outwards, and the rush of power that accompanied it overwhelmed Bakura's senses almost to the point of unconsciousness. His vision swam in the dark cave and his heart hammered in his chest. Every nerve in his body tingled, each sense heightened exponentially. It felt incredible. _

_Once he had regained his senses, he started to crave it again._

It_. That power. That feeling. Through their destruction, he could feel himself rise up and become reborn again and again, each time stronger than ever. Each time, that desire returned again, and try as he might he could never sate it. _

_That night, the last man standing left Kul Elna forever, and didn't look back. _

* * *

In the years since he had left Kul Elna, Bakura had fought his way across continents, leaving a trail of death in his wake—all in the name of power. His spirit-shadow continued to grow; devouring the smaller monsters as Bakura struck the life from their corporeal counterparts.

Domino was limbo for him. He was content, yet restless—just living to get by. At one time it got bad enough that Marik started to notice, so he had to let him in on the secret. Bakura became rash and impulsive, striking without notice, yet leaving one hell of a lot of evidence as he moved on. Cleaning up after himself was never his concern. He'd simply move on.

Then when he saw her, _he_ saw _her_. He got that rush of power just by being near her spirit, and in the back of his mind he could hear Diabound growling in anticipation. It was addictive. It was starting to get ridiculous. He had to have her. _He_ had to have _her_.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

Marik led the way, several paces in front of Bakura and Kisara. He tilted his head back towards her as he answered her question. "We're paying a little house call."

They had spent the previous night poring over diagrams and having hushed phone conversations over the secure line. So when Bakura stopped in front of the largest transport vehicle she had ever seen, she couldn't help the flicker of conviction. _Of course they would_.

Marik reached up to the side door and rapped twice on its side. The riveted panes of sheet metal rumbled faintly. "The Kaiba Corporation doesn't take kindly to would-be intruders, so we had to get creative."

"So we're hiding in a dry-goods carrier?" Marik and Bakura eyed her warily. When would she learn to stop questioning what worked?

"If you know anything about the workings of KaibaCorp, it's that almost everyone loves the youngest son—his name's Mokuba. To get to him, we just have to go through the person he loves."

The side door opened with another squeak of rusty hinges, revealing a tall, toned woman sheathed in a purple dress which complimented her wavy blonde hair. With surprising grace she leapt down from the transport's flatbed, landing almost catlike in her purple leather boots. She fixed the three of them with a self-assured smile. "So who's riding shotgun?"

* * *

"Traffic at this hour is awful. I wish there was an easier route—I know the brothers Kaiba hate when people show up late. Can't be helped now—you'll just have to make an entrance."

The woman who had introduced herself as Mai was talkative where Kisara was taciturn, more content to observe the nine-to-fivers at their respective lunch hours, on their way to or from school or work or wherever their errands took them. From brick tenements to steel-and-glass behemoths, the urban landscape subtly shifted as they got closer to the headquarters. It fascinated her.

After a moment she realized Mai had grown silent so she turned back, watching the older woman's profile as she scanned the space in front of the vehicle. "Mai? You do know what we're doing, right?"

"Yeah, kid. …I do." Her eyes grew a shade more guarded before the confident smile reappeared. "But you've got to do what you've got to do, right? And that's even beyond the personal reasons… Gozaburo is only concerned with his bottom line. He's bought off the entire local government—tariffs and import restrictions are at an all-time high, and he relaxes in his penthouse suite while the world rages outside his door. I'll do my part to help out Mokuba and his brother."

"So there's two of them? Mokuba and…"

"His older brother, Seto Kaiba. Now he's one tough bastard if I ever saw one. He's the one behind this whole operation—even directly opposing his own father. If this all goes down without a hitch, he'll be the most powerful man in Domino."

Kisara watched Mai expertly steer the monstrous vehicle through the streets, wondering how it must be, day-to-day, for someone like her—working outside of the system, yet having to live in it. It must be like walking a tightrope, and being so close to its end. One step to safety, yet it only took one misstep to fall.

"You might want to get in the back now, we're almost there." Mai waved Kisara back to the hatch behind the main cabin. Behind boxes of instant coffee and other office necessities were Bakura and Marik, each lounging against an opposite wall of the transport.

"We're almost there."

They each nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and Kisara couldn't help but notice how the lone panel of light on the ceiling of the carrier washed light only over half of Bakura's face, so that the other half remained firmly in shadow. Even when he leaned back against the metal wall of the vehicle, light and shadow still kept to that strict boundary line. She felt her skin start to prickle, and again wondered how it should make her feel. About him, she still couldn't quite decide.

* * *

The transport stilled at last, and not soon after Mai opened the hatch leading to the main cabin. "I managed to get us there with just a minute to spare. Now march, soldiers. Oh, Kisara—this is Mokuba."

Mokuba stood on the concrete floor of the hangar next to the transport, yet she could tell he was still quite tall. Kisara jumped down last from the flatbed, extending her hand to him, and he shook it warmly. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Only good things, I hope," his voice was pleasant, even as he directed a mock-glare to Mai. Bakura was already getting ready to go to their designated meeting space—he knew from experience that when Mokuba Kaiba was involved, small talk became painfully arduous. Simply watching their soul monsters was torture enough—Mai's colorfully plumed bird-woman preened behind her, and his orange dragon seemed even more energetic than usual, its small wings fluttering excitedly.

"I have to make sure that these goods get to where they need to go, and _who_ they need to go to," Mai moved to the end of the transport. "You all have fun." More seriously: "Don't get caught."

"Yeah, yeah." Mokuba lead the way out of the hangar and down one plushly carpeted hallway. Kisara had to admit, everything looked new, if a little bit dusty. They crept down the hallway, stopping at the third door to their left. "This whole floor is storage. Nobody ever comes down here at this time—ever, really. Let's go."

Inside was a small antechamber with one door open to a larger conference room obviously used for furniture storage. Chairs were stacked along the walls, and a space had been cleared in the center of the room for a long table, with more of the eclectic chairs grouped around it.

Bakura nodded at Marik, who took up the position of sentry in front of the door after they had entered. The _snick_ of the tumbler falling in the lock mechanism meant that, for the moment, there would be no unnecessary interruptions.

One man sat at the far end of the table, his deep blue suit impeccable, hair neatly groomed, and with the posture of a brick wall. He looked up as they entered, his ice-blue eyes fixing on each of them in turn. Kisara felt the bottom of her stomach drop as he turned his gaze on her… it was as if he could see through to her very soul. Instinctively averting her eyes, she tried very hard not to blush.

Mokuba broke the burgeoning silence. "Seto, this is Kisara… She is… actually, I don't know what she's doing here."

"She's with us." Bakura's tone was almost belligerent. He took a seat at the table, a sharp nod directing Kisara to sit to his right—farther away from the source of her almost vertigo-like feelings. Yet when she looked up, she noticed she was directly across the table from _him_—and he hadn't stopped looking at her since she had entered the room.

Mokuba flexed his hands as he took the last chair, to his brother's right. He obviously hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. "Everything is in place for the takeover two days from now. We have hacked into KC's security database, and at the right time we can control every door in the building—we'll have a direct route to Gozaburo, and to his five associates should things turn ugly."

"It won't," the elder Kaiba finally spoke, his voice certain. "At the start of that business day our transaction will be complete and I'll own 51% of the company—legally there's nothing he can do."

"Yet you obtained those shares by less than legal means. If you let him bring anything to court, your case won't hold water," Bakura challenged, immediately checking himself after that outburst. Nobody tangles with the Kaibas—look at where they are now! He reminded himself that it was simple cautiousness, simply a matter of self-preservation. He took a deep breath, then another.

"I won't let him get to court…He'll only be leaving KC tower one way." The glare fixed itself on Bakura now, and in Kisara's relief she voiced the question that had been foremost on her mind.

"You can't mean—you're going to kill him?"

Now three pairs of eyes turned to her. She looked back in her own sweep of the room. Mokuba's were of a sad sort of sincerity and Bakura's were of anger and general unpleasantness. Kaiba, however, simply stared at her, impassive, a force of strength almost too much for her to bear. She could hear his retort in her head, _what do you think?_, and she felt like she was drowning, swallowed up by the cold shoulder and dark underbelly of Domino.

So she stared back at the man who would soon become a murderer and wondered how they had been pushed to this point.

_Oh, how the prodigal son hath returned. _

"We will expect you promptly at noon in two days time. Each step will begin like we have discussed, like a chain reaction. We will succeed. Then we will reconvene here the following day." Every pore, every fiber of his being exuded confidence and strength. She had to wonder, _for what?_ Was he strong for Mokuba? For the city of Domino? Simply for himself, for his own quest for power? Either way, she found that she didn't fear him as she had expected. Instead, she was somewhat in awe of him.

"We'll be here," Bakura growled, rising from the table, signaling the meeting's end on his terms. He wasn't sure why he hated Kaiba, but he had a damn good reason now. Having to sit through that charade… not for the first time, he cursed his ability.

Kaiba's soul monster had never mattered much to him—he always knew the man was treacherous. Seeing the blue-outfitted _shinobi_ shimmering behind him now only confirmed the fact. And when she had entered the room, he could see _him_ with a reed pipe in one hand, playing some soundless melody. And _she_ had responded! What a stupid dragon—dancing right into the lion's den, the place where she least belonged. He felt his own soul monster's low growl behind him, and then he remembered all of the reasons he hated Seto Kaiba. The underhanded, scheming bastard—

Although he supposed the same things had been said on more than one occasion about himself.

When they were alone, back at their headquarters—her home now, he noted with satisfaction—Kisara had asked him what the elder Kaiba's soul monster was. A simple question, asked innocently enough. Yet in his mind he could see the piper leading his dragon away—and he couldn't have that. _She_ was _his_.

"It was a big ugly ox, with plate armor and an axe."

* * *

"This is getting beyond ridiculous." Bakura paced in his dingy office.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Marik eyed the thief warily from his position behind the desk, feet propped up comfortably.

"Out of the chair," Bakura thundered, rearing one arm back as if to swing at him. Marik took the hint, dodging around the other until their positions were reversed. Bakura sank into the open chair, feeling the telltale ache spread into his limbs—it had started the previous day and had only gotten worse. The _power_ he craved he could feel drifting away, and he would be damned if he'd let that happen.

"So just standing next to her isn't getting the job done anymore," Marik began again, keeping the door in his peripheral vision in case things got dicey. He'd had to play counselor on occasion before, but he had never seen things get this bad before. Just what sort of soul monster did she have, anyways?

"I can still feel the power; it's just not directed at me anymore. All that strength—wasted, dissipated into the air, wherever it went—gone! At least with the takeover tomorrow, her focus should come back to what matters."

Marik knew the basics of his Diabound—that it absorbed the power of those that Bakura defeated; their life essence strengthening him and filling that bottomless void. He hadn't voiced his theory aloud, but he often wondered just how much of his master Diabound was also attempting to consume. How often he was talking not to the thief but to the bloodthirsty monster within him.

"Just watch yourself tomorrow—you need your focus, too. We've got a long day ahead of us." Bakura looked up, face hardened, and Marik laughed it off like always. It was better to live to fight another day than for himself to become Diabound's next meal. "I know, I know. Out of the office."

Alone, Bakura raised himself from the chair and walked to the grimy window. He couldn't see anything distinct outside, simply flashes of light from the nameless and faceless of the city. In the dirt-smudged glass he saw his own reflection, the silhouette of Diabound overlaid on it. He glared at it, as if willing it away, yet the image never wavered, instead growing stronger in the dimmed light of his office.

* * *

Kisara laid awake for the majority of that night. She couldn't sleep—she could barely think. She didn't know what to think.

Bakura had been lying to her, that much she was sure of. And she felt _something_, some inexplicable, inextricable connection to the elder Kaiba, which made her fear _for_ him—she wondered what had to be going through his mind. What had Gozaburo done to him to warrant this? She could see her own dragon, eyes as blue as both of theirs, head slightly cowed, herself lying in a circle around Kisara. "We need to protect him," she whispered. She doubted anyone had ever tried to protect him, the man who would suffer the ultimate trial for the fate of them all.

She knew that she wouldn't be a part of the group heading out to the Kaiba Corporation complex the next morning. A part of her didn't want to go—it would no doubt be dangerous, and she had no idea of how to defend herself. Yet she knew she had to be there. She looked to her dragon again, eyes wide in the night. They were both so conflicted. Kaiba… Bakura… she wanted to help one, and owed her life to the other. Two connections she could feel even now tugging her in two different directions. She knew she would have to choose.

First, she needed a plan.

Kisara rolled over onto her stomach, switched on a battered task light, and started plotting.

* * *

The morning was clear and cloudless.

Throughout Domino men and women woke, breakfasted, and went along their ways without the slightest idea that in only hours' time, their world would turn upside down. How peculiar that, in one-hundred years' time, the history books would look back and chronicle the paths of only a handful of men. They charted the course of the city through the power that they wielded.

It was all about power.

They each understood that, in their own ways. It was a vicious cycle, the powerless clawing to the top, the powerful so lonely at the top of their pyramids. Hot air rises instinctively, pushing cooler air to the bottom—it is natural for humans to desire power; the reasons may vary but the result is always the same—what raises one higher will eventually be their ruin.

How willingly they threw themselves into the fray.

"Are you sure that you want to do this? I can always take you back," Mai warned as she eased the transport into the empty hangar. Kisara was already halfway out of the hatch, quickly moving to the passenger seat in the main cabin of the vehicle.

"Marik told me that Gozaburo doesn't know about you and Mokuba… that he couldn't know. That this was something you just had to do. Well, this is something I have to do." Kisara opened the door, slipping out of the vehicle. "Besides, you have to be here to protect him." With one last smile and a half-wave, she was gone. She had a little protecting of her own to do.

There was a clock over the lintel of the first door she passed, and saw the minute hand at twenty till noon. She was early—she knew Kaiba would still be there.

When she threw the doors open to the conference room they had met in scarcely two days earlier he was there, seated in the same chair, yet behind the detached mask she could tell that, somehow, despite everything, he had known she would be there.

She moved over to stand next to him; with their height difference even standing Kisara only had to look down slightly to meet his unreadable gaze. "What are you going to do… after?" Sometimes she hated how weak she was; she could barely even voice what was on both their minds.

"After today Kaiba Corporation will no longer manufacture weapons of any kind. We're moving into a new direction, one you should recognize. You worked at Industrial Illusions, correct?"

She stared blankly, momentarily forgetting that he probably had not only the connections to learn all he needed to about her, but also the computer prowess to extract whatever information he wanted from I2's mainframe. "Yes, I did. Concept art… for a new game."

"Based on everyone's soul monsters."

"Yes." She doubted she could tell him anything he didn't already know. "They're planning on releasing it as a tabletop game next year."

"I'm going to release it as a holographic-simulation game in six months."

She didn't know why, but at that moment she wanted to smile. Despite what Mai had said about him, what probably everyone said about him, she thought he would make an incredible C.E.O. Domino needed someone like him. A part of her wanted to tell him that, but she couldn't put together the words that always seemed to get in the way.

Suddenly he looked at his watch. "Eleven-fifty." Time was counting down for both of them. _Tick tock tick tock…_

He turned as if to rise from his chair, but she stopped him by gently touching his arm. He could probably feel it trembling through the layers of fabric. Yet when she spoke, her voice was clear. "Do you think humans are inherently bad? That all we're good for is fighting amongst each other until we get defeated by someone stronger?"

All of her life, Kisara had been grappling with that very question. She thought she had her answer when she discovered what Pegasus' project had been. The very essence of each person, their souls, battling to the end—and as part of a game? Humans were meant to fight, to kill each other and then die. She had meant to break the cycle that night by throwing herself off of the Ivory tower, by taking her own life rather than taking anyone else's.

_Tick tock tick tock… _

Yet she had been given a second chance… and yet she was still unsure. In her mind's eye she saw Mai and Mokuba—two people fighting for a cause they believed in, fighting for their own love to have a chance in a world full of hate. In this new life, everyone she met were so strong, so confident… she had to be strong, too. She had to know if Kaiba understood. Was this plan just a different disguise of what they were fighting to change?

"…I think humans are inherently good," came his measured response. "We just have the power to choose between good and bad."

"I'm not sure about everyone… but I see goodness in you."

_Tick tock tick tock…_

Now or never. He turned to her, his eyes unreadable, hers so full of hope. In one second he had risen and all she could think about was how close he was. In the next second he closed the distance between them and she forgot how to think.

Their kiss was short yet searing, conveying everything that words couldn't, and Kisara embraced him tightly, pouring her strength into him, knowing that he would make the right choice.

He broke away yet remained close, so that their foreheads were only barely touching. "Find someplace safe. I'll come and get you when this is all over."

"Wait—"

"_Kisara_." She felt a small shiver of elation simply at having him speak her name. "I have to go."

She watched him leave; watched all of the pieces finally fall into place; watched the last inch of the wick be consumed by fire before the inevitable explosion.

* * *

All hell had broken loose on the plaza outside the Kaiba Corporation towers. A squadron of blue-jacketed men had taken up positions defending the main entrance to the building; the attackers were a combination of thieves, sympathizers, and mercenaries— firing back with KC's own weapons, protected by the same level of defense that their enemy used. Their only disadvantage was territory and height.

And that was about to be rectified.

Bakura and Marik edged out behind one of the side doors conveniently left unlocked—Mokuba was on a direct communication uplink to Marik, controlling every electronic aspect of the complex through his own mainframe computer. Mai was with Mokuba.

Marik looked over at the thief, feeling not-quite-anxious yet still a little unsettled at the rather maniacal grin on the other's face. His remarkable self-preservation reflex was kicking in, and something told him that he might want to stay out of the way for this one.

Bakura held up a fist, and then began to count down. Three… two… one…

He leapt, and the first gunman hit the ground. That feeling returned, and suddenly he felt the rush of adrenaline. He ran faster, leapt higher, and with each kill that strength increased again and again.

That rush of power was intoxicating, yet it wasn't enough. He could see each soul monster taking part in the fight; with each sniper's shot a shimmery throwing star arced through the air, slicing into one of the KC men's monsters. Diabound leapt through the air in synchronization with his own movements, plunging his teeth and claws into every surface he could find, ripping through each monster, devouring some whole. Bakura's world vanished in a haze of red.

The insatiable thirst for power… it consumed him, and he didn't stop until in his madness he had leapt upon a wounded thief, one of his own men, finishing the job as Diabound grabbed one leg of his shadow monster, a tri-horned dinosaur, and bit down, not stopping until the entire monster was devoured. He continued to grow with each new kill, and the rush of power further clouded Bakura's vision. He needed to get more…

Everyone left alive could tell that something wasn't right. They inched back as he pressed forward, and Marik knew that he alone didn't have the power to defeat Bakura in combat. No one did. "Mokuba, let me in and then on my mark, close the doors."

He heard their screams as he slid behind the door, hearing them all lock closed a moment later. He frowned at the mess Bakura had caused, but it was too late for anyone on the outside. He had a job to finish, and he had to keep himself alive while he was at it. He found the stairwell and started to climb to his rendezvous point, hearing the sound of breaking glass moments later.

He climbed faster.

* * *

Bakura's mind was cloudy; as if he himself wasn't controlling his own movements. Yet he was running, and moving, and swinging his arms… he felt as if he was watching this all happen, not causing it to happen.

The ache was still there—Diabound wasn't about to stop anytime soon. His feet were leading him through the hallways of the Kaiba Corporation tower. He left each hallway with the carpet soaked red; the employees, he knew, were hiding… it was the security forces roaming the halls with him that had all the firepower. They were who he wanted. The stronger, the better.

This hallway was empty. Dust motes hung in the air as if someone had only recently ran down the hallway. He could feel _it_—the power he had been craving. It was close.

He turned the corner, and saw her. She saw _him_, and started to run.

Bakura didn't stop to think about what Kisara was doing here, at Kaiba Corporation, on the day of the takeover. He didn't stop to think about what he was doing. He didn't stop.

He couldn't stop, because Diabound had finally taken control. _He_ had been denied what _he_ wanted ever since that first night, and his lust for the ultimate power would finally be sated. He would finally consume the dragon, and the dragon would become a part of him, until they were one.

They would become one, and if she would be sacrificed in the name of their unity, then it was a pity. But it could be avoided no longer.

He would have what he wanted.

He leapt upon her, and he felt power and pleasure and pain consume them all in a blinding inferno.

Together at last, two become one for all time…

Bakura slipped into unconsciousness as the thread binding Kisara to life was cut in one swift movement.

* * *

Power.

Pleasure.

Pain.

It was… too much…

He felt like he was going to explode.

It had to go somewhere… he stretched his fingertips out and the power rippled from his body, swelling outwards in a wave of pure energy, passing through the wall with only a slight shake, its path undeterred. It continued to expand.

* * *

"You can't do it, can you?"

Gozaburo sneered at his son, his hair in disarray from the breeze. Seto motioned again to the smashed window, his voice struggling not to break. "You will jump."

"Make me!"

"Jump!"

"You can't do it! You were always so weak, such a disappointment—just give up!"

Kaiba desperately wanted to, to fulfill the promise he had made to himself at far too young an age, when the man standing before him had killed the child within him. He was a husk of a man, hollow just like this city, yet Kisara's words still echoed in his mind.

"_I see goodness in you."_

At that moment the building started to shake. He felt some invisible, unstoppable force propelling him harshly to the right. He slammed into one wall as Gozaburo was pushed by the same force, staggering to regain his footing, then—

He was gone.

The wave of pressure had also vanished. Kaiba slumped against the wall, his hand hesitantly touching the side of his head which had crashed against the wall. It came away clean; it was probably just bruised. He staggered over to the pane of windows, avoiding the gaping hole that Gozaburo had fallen out of. He stared first down at the body; no more than a smudge in the cement from so high up. His vision rose up to the sky, remarkably blue in the midday sun. As he took in the sky for one blissful second he thought he saw a white winged dragon darting off into the sky.

Then it was gone.

* * *

Friday night in Domino City.

Kaiba had specifically asked to speak with Bakura alone, and no one was about to go against the most powerful man in Domino. They were ensconced in one of the building's many seminar rooms; on the tenth floor they had an impressive vista of the city.

Damn the city. Kaiba could care less about the city.

"Your own soul monster's lust for power, for… her spirit…?" He managed.

Bakura nodded.

"Leave Domino. I want you out of my city." It was the least he could do. It was the only thing he could do. Kisara's words continued to echo in his mind… it was the only thing left to remember her by.

"Do you even miss her?" The two, rivals-of-a-sort, stared at each other from across the room. One who had wanted her spirit, the other who had wanted her—his heart continued to beat, but it sounded different, now. _Thud…thud…thud…_ as if there was nothing there. It was empty. Yet he couldn't stop pushing forward.

They had already cancelled all of their contracts, and the next day he would meet with the executives and inform them of the company's many changes. He was working like a man possessed because there was nothing else to do.

"I'm not sure." Kaiba believed him.

Bakura turned to leave and his hand was turning the doorknob before Kaiba spoke again. "What did it look like? Her… spirit?"

Bakura laughed at that, a hollow chuckle in the bottom of his throat. "It was a white dragon with blue eyes."

He left, and not soon after Kaiba turned to leave from the room, his feet guiding him to his office. In a filing cabinet to the left of the door he retrieved several pieces of paper, glossy in the dim light, the color of the illustrations standing out vividly.

He had contacts within Industrial Illusions who had given him these drawings, told him of their plans. He leafed through the pages until he had found the right one- after he had seen _it_; he had made up his mind to take control of the company. He held it up to face, scrutinizing every painstaking detail.

It was a dragon with white scales, large wings and piercing blue eyes.

He memorized every surface of the drawing, wondering if _she_ had drawn it. It had to be hers. It was beautiful, any fool could see that. There was power there, true, but there was so much more than that beneath the surface.

This would become a card, he knew that much. A token used in combat, part of the endless cycle she had scorned so passionately. But it would be different if she was fighting for a cause. He resolved that the only person to use the card would be him. Bakura no longer had any power over the Blue-Eyes White Dragon… she was _his_.

On impulse he tucked the drawing into his left jacket pocket; turned, and exited the room. As he left the building he could see the flash of cameras; the media documenting the scene. The flashes blended in to the lights on each skyscraper; some flickering in cadence, some awash with light. The stars were exceptionally clear tonight. It was foolish to think so, perhaps, but he thought that maybe the stars were shining so brightly because one more had joined their number, and they were welcoming her home.

* * *

_The End._

* * *

Footnotes: We know that Diabound and the BEWD are Bakura and Kisara's soul monsters, respectively, but the others that I alluded to were:

Harpy Lady—Mai

Baby Dragon (or I suppose you could argue Thousand Dragon or Harpy's Pet Dragon) –Mokuba Kaiba

Lord of Dragons –Seto Kaiba (even though Bakura lies and says his soul monster is the 'Battle Ox')

What a monster of a story! (no pun intended!) I do hope you enjoyed reading it, and _please_ review. _Thank you for reading!_


End file.
